


so it goes

by pendragoh



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Anal Sex, Angst, Coming of Age, Growing Up, M/M, Might be Out of Character, Pining Zayn, Recreational Drug Use, Unrequited Love, Zayn-centric, mentions of depression, no capitalization
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-27
Updated: 2015-04-27
Packaged: 2018-03-26 00:33:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3830590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pendragoh/pseuds/pendragoh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>on these mornings, when louis’ arms tighten around him and he looks painfully young, it’s hardest to keep from just blurting everything out. from spilling every single word he’s ever wanted to say, from confessing every secret he’s ever kept, every sinful thought he’s ever had about the pair of pale lips resting on his hairline with his hand wrapped tightly around his cock, from licking into his mouth and chasing away the taste of stale beer and weed and her or her or her, until all he can taste is louis. pure, unadulterated, louis tomlinson, with his fiery blue eyes and messy, spiky fringe; with his squinty piercing stare, and the creases by his eyes he gets when he smiles, and that one laugh he has where it’s practically a giggle; with his stupid snappy comments he always makes; with the way he loves, and protects, and cares; with his everything.</p>
<p>he has no idea, none at all, of how he affects zayn; because, to zayn, louis hung the moon, the stars, the entire fucking galaxy. louis is a part of him, he reckons, is imprinted on his bones, carved into his ribcage, in the crevices between his knuckles and behind his knees, the dirt underneath his fingernails, the grease in his hair that he will never wash out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	so it goes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kingsoftheimpossible](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kingsoftheimpossible/gifts).



> to my person, i am SO sorry that i barely followed your prompts. you probably won't even recognize them in here and i'm so so sorry, and i know you wanted light hearted stuff but that's just not how this fic went, i apologize and i hope you still like it despite this :/
> 
> on another note: there are some mentions of depression in this, specifically seasonal depression, and if the offhanded way i treated it bothers you i'm sorry for that. i put a lot of myself into zayn's character and sorta described how i felt through him, so i'm sorry if it comes off flippant. that being said, i hope you all like my story :)
> 
> ps. i know nothing about the british schooling system sorry?

this is how it starts:

zayn meets louis when they’re ten years old. louis is the loud new kid from doncaster, and zayn is the shy, introverted kid who has no friends, chooses to hang out with his books and drawings instead.

louis annoys him at first; he never seems to go away, always glued to zayn’s side asking him what he’s drawing, what he’s reading, what class that homework he’s working on is for. zayn half-heartedly tries to push him away, towards the popular kids, where his bright smile and blazing demeanor belongs. but he stops when those blue eyes go cloudy with hurt, something that makes guilt pool in the bottom of zayn’s stomach, and causes his heart to inexplicably skip a beat.

and the rest, they say, is history.

they’re inseparable after that; following each other home, their parents exasperatedly calling them partners in crime, asking, “don’t you get sick of each other?” to which they reply with, “nope, and we never will.”

they go to the beach together, louis swimming in the cold and unforgiving ocean, skin golden in the light of the sun; zayn sits with their parents, beaming at louis from the shoreline because he can’t swim, and he’s afraid of the water, anyway. he snickers as he watches his friend shake out his hair, fringe dripping with sea water, and sprint towards him, arms splayed out wide. and zayn doesn’t even pretend to be annoyed when he’s predictably tackled by louis, his wet swim trunks soaking through zayn’s jean shorts; he just laughs and laughs and laughs until tears leak out of the sides of his eyes.

and if zayn’s stomach flutters when he looks at louis’ wet skin, darkened from the heat of the day, well, he puts it down to the pure excitement of having a friend for once.

-

when they’re eleven, zayn tries to seriously focus on his art.

louis is constantly encouraging him, always sending him e-mails with picture attachments of something beautiful, one a day. he sends pictures of traffic lights, of a lovely little girl with watermelon juice staining her fair face and on one of the days, louis sends a picture of zayn.

and zayn laughs like it’s the funniest joke ever, draws louis instead. the next day, louis frowns and asks why he didn’t draw a picture of himself. he simply states, “you’re supposed to send me something beautiful,” and louis goes very quiet, which is strange. his brow furrows and he frowns like he does when he’s angry, but doesn’t say anything more on the subject.

he spends more time with his sisters, too, because they’re growing up fast, and so is he. he braids their hair and as a joke, tries to braid louis’ long fringe as well, weirdly loving the feeling of the silky strands slip-sliding through his fingertips.

he asks louis to teach him to swim, forgetting that he is completely terrified of the water. he had just wanted to be able to glide in the waves with his friend, because he hates the way louis complains every time they go swimming and zayn is forced to sit at the shallow end with his legs ankle-deep in the pool. but zayn hates the sensation of the water sloshing around his feet, so he never stays for very long.

they ride their bikes to the local liquor store and buy as much candy as they can with their allowance, forgetting they have to eat it all before they get home so their parents won’t find out. they spend the night at each other’s houses, reading from comic books with their flickering flashlights, giggling too loudly because they’re almost delirious from how tired they are.  

zayn predicts that when he grows bigger and taller, he will always remember these times; these times he spent with louis under the covers, the luminosity shining in his eyes causing them to gleam a bright blue.

-

louis hits his growth spurt at twelve, legs stretching and voice deepening. his fingers fill out and lengthen, and he develops a small collection of acne at the corner of his mouth. in lieu of talking about comics at one am, he talks about girls; how jessica’s hair falls delicately against her shoulder, how chelsea’s lip gloss tasted like rasberries and stuck to his lips. and zayn feels out of place, awkward and stuck in his twelve year old body that has yet to mature while louis looks tanned from the summer, his hair grown out a little, falling into his eyes.

zayn doesn’t know why he could care less that karen was staring at him longingly in maths, is completely unfazed when he kisses leslie behind the bleachers. all he knows is that his fingers itch with the need to push louis’ hair off his forehead, that every time he brings up a new girl zayn feels nauseous. and he is _always_ talking about a new girl, because to louis, falling in love is as easy as breathing.

one of their classmates will do something as simple as flick their heavy eyelashes at him, and he’ll be gone; incessantly chatting about them, fretting about what to wear to school the next day, desperately trying to impress them.

and zayn is in the background, waiting for the world to change, for louis to look at him the way he looks at all the other girls, even if he’s not sure why. he wants louis to flash him that blinding smile, the one where his eyes scrunch up and he shows all of his teeth; he wants to be able to wrap his arms around louis’ shoulders, wants to be able to shove his nose in his neck and feel his body shake with laughter, to feel louis rub his hands gently on his back, and have it _mean_ something.

but, at twelve, zayn is still awkward and blundering, thick-framed glasses and tentatively pierced ears. he understands that they would make an odd, off-kilter couple, with louis’ carefree attitude and sharp remarks. so zayn just lingers and waits patiently for this sensation in his stomach to settle and cease.

-

at thirteen years old, zayn is starting to get that this excitement in his belly isn’t going away any time soon.

he understands why it only happens when he’s staring at louis; at the way he eats popsicles, getting it all over his cheeks like a child, shoving zayn playfully when he points it out; at his intense way of examining zayn’s artwork, as if he’s really trying to work out the meaning behind it; the way he’s always trying to bring zayn out of his shell by introducing him to people like harry and niall, but recognizing that he truly needs friends like solid and warm liam; the way he loves waliyha and safaa and doniya like they’re his own sisters, even if he has plenty of his own.

it’s stupid, he thinks, being in love with someone who will never feel the same way.

and he knows louis won’t. he isn’t delusional. he sees the way louis looks at the girls that seem to surround him more and more, how they fawn over his eyes or his charms or his cheeky grin and zayn just wants to shout and insist, “ _i knew him first!_ ” which is foolish and childish, he knows, but it’s how he feels, every time louis flashes his smile at another faceless girl, another he’s going to fall in love with for a week until they break up, and he’s onto another one. it’s a vicious cycle, one he’s constantly dragged into kicking and screaming.

sometimes zayn wishes he’d never met louis at all; but then he remembers what life was like before him, the aching loneliness and isolation, and he’s grateful for the tiny bread crumbs he receives. after all, those girls don’t know what louis’ family is like, don’t know that when louis thinks he laughs too loud he covers his mouth, body tense trying to keep the noise in; they don’t know what louis looks like when he’s just finished playing a game of footie, bits of grass and dirt streaked all over his clothes and face; they don’t know what it’s like to look at louis’ lips after he’s eaten an entire bag of cherries, how the crimson doesn’t fade until he takes a shower at the very end of the day.

and most importantly, louis doesn’t look at them with the tender fondness he looks at zayn with. doesn’t ruffle their hair like he does zayn’s, because he knows it will irritate him endlessly. they don’t see the drawings of louis that he spends a painstaking amount of time over, continuously failing to capture the exact color of his irises, the explicit shape and size of his smile. they don’t watch louis when he’s dicking around with harry and sometimes niall as they wrestle playfully on the floor; don’t see the way his abdomen muscles contract, and his chest heaves with his large breaths; the way he’s jokingly angry after he’s lost. he’ll open his arms, wave zayn over and throw his arm around his shoulder, give him a fond and silly peck on the temple and ask shortly, “why don’t you play with us, zayn?”

and zayn just shakes his head, because he wouldn’t leave this sweaty warmth for even a second, and his face burns with embarrassment as he peels his eyelids open and peeks at liam, catches on his soft, questioning gaze uncomfortably. he swallows roughly, his throat suddenly dry, and just states, “because it’d be too easy a win, lou,” trying for humor.

louis’ answering laugh is more than worth it, he thinks.

-

their first year of high school is rough, louis even more physically affectionate because they don’t hang out as much as they used to, louis choosing to go to parties on the weekends with harry, zayn choosing to spend the weekends sketching future tattoo ideas and watching action movies with liam.

he abandons his varsity jackets in favor of leather ones instead, gets a new haircut, and starts smoking cigarettes. he loves the burn of the smoke in his chest, is obsessed with blowing smoke rings, and soon enough he is addicted, having to always have a can of deodorizer in his room so his parents won’t find out. he gets his first tattoo when he’s drunk, and his second one after his grandfather passes.

he gets labeled a _bad boy_ at school, which louis is weirdly upset about. he scoffs and says, “fuck em, zayn. they don’t know you like i do, okay? they don’t know you’re better than all of them.”

on sundays, zayn wakes up to the sensation of being too hot, sheets bundled up at the end of the bed, louis’ wet breaths hitting directly behind his ear. those days are absolute torture for zayn, because louis is like a fucking octopus when he’s nursing a hangover; he wraps his arms around zayn’s chest and entwines their legs together, moans grumpily and groans out, “too much talking, too loud,” even though nobody has spoken. he shoves his nose into zayn’s hair and snores so loud that zayn can’t think straight.

on these mornings, when louis’ arms tighten around him and he looks painfully young, it’s hardest to keep from just blurting everything out. from spilling every single word he’s ever wanted to say, from confessing every secret he’s ever kept, every sinful thought he’s ever had about the pair of pale lips resting on his hairline with his hand wrapped tightly around his cock, from licking into his mouth and chasing away the taste of stale beer and weed and her or her or _her_ , until all he can taste is _louis_. pure, unadulterated, louis tomlinson, with his fiery blue eyes and messy, spiky fringe; with his squinty piercing stare, and the creases by his eyes he gets when he smiles, and that one laugh he has where it’s practically a giggle; with his stupid snappy comments he always makes; with the way he loves, and protects, and cares; with his everything.

he has no idea, none at all, of how he affects zayn; because, to zayn, louis hung the moon, the stars, the entire fucking galaxy. louis is a part of him, he reckons, is imprinted on his bones, carved into his ribcage, in the crevices between his knuckles and behind his knees, the dirt underneath his fingernails, the grease in his hair that he will never wash out.

-

time goes on, louis fucks a slew of girls and so does zayn, if only to numb the pain, and because he’s sick of his right hand. he shags a few blokes as well, something louis sees and gets a weird look about, but he never says anything. he smokes joints with niall and kisses him sloppily, blowing smoke into his mouth and giggling, licking the outline of his lips. and if niall laughs and pushes him away with a silly, “you’re louis’ lad,” zayn just rolls his eyes.

he can tell his friends are concerned with his behavior, but fuck that, they don’t need to be. he’s having a good time, his life spray painted with city lights and good shags. and sometimes, when he’s rubbing his temples on a monday morning, willing the headache curling around his eyes to disappear, louis will slide his arm around his shoulders with a tight squeeze, saying, “rough night last night, zayn?”

the seasons change, pearly white snow falls from the sky, and with the cold comes depression. this is something louis doesn’t know; he doesn’t know the emptiness zayn feels when the ice hardens and freezes. louis doesn’t know, but liam does, and he’s always there, with his soft, fluffy hair and warm, bourbon eyes. liam knows parts of him that louis can’t, that louis won’t ever know, because when louis looks particularly gorgeous, liam will get it, without zayn having to say anything. large and steady hands will play in his hair, nails scratching and rubbing, zayn practically purring underneath liam’s hands.

it’s not romantic, from either side, but liam is his platonic soulmate and he is grateful for every second of time they spend together. louis asks what makes liam so special, sometimes, and the only thing zayn can do is shrug and smile tenderly. maybe it’s the way he radiates kindness and loyalty, the way he understands zayn so easily.

but liam gets that he will never be louis, doesn’t want or try to be him. so when they all hang out as a group, he keeps his distance, choosing to sit across from him instead of fitted by his side where louis is always present when they’re together, louis’ fingers warm on zayn’s thigh.

.

“i think i might be in love with you,” zayn shudders out one night when he’s fifteen and drunk on screwdrivers. “no, fuck that, i’m so in love with you it’s stupid,”

he instantly knows it’s a mistake, knows he’ll regret it in the morning when he wakes up cold and alone with a pounding headache and a pounding heart. he feels it in the way louis tenses up next to him, awkward in the way he shuffles out of zayn’s grasp to stare fixedly at him in shock; he squints his gaze at harry, who is gawking at him from his spot on the floor, and flits over to liam, who’s thick eyebrows are furrowed together in concern and confusion.

the mood has shifted; no one is laughing at whatever niall just said. it’s dead silent, and zayn thankfully swallows down whatever he was about to say next.

“you’re not serious?” louis is asking, staring in a way zayn can’t decipher, as if zayn hasn’t known him for five years, hasn’t memorized every mark and scar, which unsettles him in a way he can’t explain. louis has an odd look in his eyes along with a questioning and expectant brightness and shit, what is he supposed to say? he’s fed up with lying so why not just come right out and say it.

“completely serious. i fucking love ya, mate,” he slurs out, forcing out a drunken smile in the direction he thinks louis is, vision bleary and unfocused. “but it’s okay, i know you’ll never fancy me back.”

louis responds by going completely stiff, eyebrows raised, and if zayn didn’t know better, he would think louis is _offended_. but he does, so he just picks at a loose thread in his jeans for a while, begging for the world to swallow him whole. eventually, absolutely fed up with the silence that’s filled with measured breaths and heavy regrets, he gets up and rushes toward the door; tears stab at his eyes and his throat is thick with self-disgust, ignoring louis’ piercing gaze that’s begging him not to leave and screams _we need to talk about this_ ,and liam’s concerned shouts of his name.

because zayn’s just ruined everything, because now louis _knows_ and will never want to speak to him again and zayn—he’s so angry he’s shaking, furious at himself because he’s been able to bury these foolish, unrequited feelings since he was twelve, when he was young and naïve, and thought they would fade away with time. and now that’s all gone to shit, because zayn can’t keep his fucking mouth shut.

the next morning, when he wakes up with louis’ fingers etching through his hair, zayn is so relieved that he trembles and begs him to not be mad, thoroughly humiliated that he’s crying; but louis says nothing for a second, just stays quiet and wipes zayn’s cheeks with his thick, rough fingers. soon enough he clears his throat, and zayn listens, completely and eerily still, as louis says things like, “it’s alright, zayn,” and, “you know i could never be mad at you.”

-

at sixteen, zayn is still in love with louis, and louis is still in love with life. 

louis starts to be careful around zayn, cautious, and zayn hates it; he punches him in the arm _hard_ and says, “fuck off, lou, you said you wouldn’t treat me different,” and while it’s painful, louis bragging about girls and sex is better than the uncomfortable avoidance of the topic.

liam tries to comfort him, insists that louis is blind, is stupid, etc. for not feeling the same way about zayn, and while it’s a nice try, and inevitably liam, it’s a moot point. because it’s not like zayn was expecting anything different; louis will never love him like that—and why would he?

louis is snark and brightness, a day at the beach and the feeling of sand between your toes, grins that always seem like he knows something you don’t. zayn is bad moods and cigarette smoke, tattoos on forearms and rainy days, smiles that are too big, tongue between teeth. where louis is happy and carefree, zayn is weighed down by drawings and poems; where louis is outgoing, zayn is reserved; where louis is cheeky and charismatic, zayn is awkward and shy, closed off. they’ve never been a perfect fit, and zayn has always known this, but it’s never been as glaringly obvious as it is now.

so, nothing much really changes. louis is still as beautiful as he’s always been, with his rich and brilliant skin and bright eyes. zayn is still just zayn, with his styled quiff and half-smoked cigarettes, amber eyes framed by long eyelashes. he focuses on trying to push his problems away, spending more time with niall, smoking bowls and drinking whisky, running his hands through his bleached hair and yanking playfully, linking their fingers together and tugging him to connect their mouths together nonchalantly.

niall is fresh and new, lively and carefree as all fuck. he’s everything louis isn’t; where louis is brunette, niall is bright blonde; where louis is shiny sapphire, niall is cool blue. when they kiss, niall is slow and sweet and unexpected, lightly licking at his teeth, sucking on his tongue, nipping and biting at his neck, leaving marks that people raise their eyebrows at.

but zayn doesn’t care, because niall is just _niall_ and zayn thinks maybe, just maybe, he could fall in the love with the way niall slides his hands all the way from zayn’s shoulders, to his skinny waist, to palm at his arse, barely squeezing.

and if niall still says, “louis’ fucking gone about this, ya know?” while he’s pushing his tongue roughly into zayn’s mouth, hand twisting on the upstroke of his cock, well, zayn’s too aroused to care.

* * *

this is how it is:

zayn is seventeen, sitting in someone’s backyard at a party with niall and harry, passing a joint around. niall’s hand is so close to his their pinkies are touching, and if zayn wanted to, he could slide his hand an inch to the left and join their fingers together. but he doesn’t.

“did you guys see the lass louis’ toting around tonight?” niall sarcastically chuckles, tongue darting out to collect the salsa dripping down between his fingers in an obscene and filthy way, heavy-lidded eyes flicking to peer sneakily at zayn. “how long will they last this time, do you think—a week, you reckon? two?” he says, cracking an incredulous, disdainful smile at louis’ dating habits.

“i say two,” harry guesses.

“a month, maybe,” zayn says quietly, gaze dropping to his fingers, afraid that if they look into his eyes for too long, they’ll see the longing and the barely-concealed need, the burning jealousy. even after all these years, and niall’s easy and considerate kisses, louis is still all he can think about, dream about, all he can see behind his eyes when niall crooks his fingers just right and zayn comes. “louis told me he really fancies this one.”

“yeah, right!” harry cackles, “i don’t believe that for half a second. he said that about the last one, yeah? and the one before that, if i remember correctly.”

“yeah, i guess,” zayn mutters distractedly, stubbing out the joint and leisurely pulling out a cigarette, lighting it with hands he will never admit are shaking. “where’s liam?” he queries, trying to change the subject. “did he say if he was coming tonight?”

“fuck if i know,” niall sputters, his mouth full, causing bits of crisps to fly on the table.

it upsets zayn, that liam never wants to come out with them. the nights would be so much better if his solid presence was directly beside zayn, hands sympathetically grabbing at his shoulders, his mouth by zayn’s ear saying, “one day, zayn. one day it’ll be you,” even though he knows it’s a lie. he debates ringing him, but decides against it, figuring he’ll see him at school tomorrow, just them two, eating in the art room at lunch because they want to be alone together.

soon harry is leaving to meet up with his girl, and it’s just zayn and niall. only then does zayn stub out his cigarette and coil their fingers together, and brings niall’s hand to his lips, lightly pressing a kiss on his soft knuckles. it’s a comfort, zayn thinks, niall always being here for him, a steady companionship.

“you wanna bail?” niall asks. zayn denies quietly, content to just sit with their digits lazily tangled. he breathes in and out, in and out, trying not to think about louis with _her_ , tries not to stare too obviously at them from where he can see the devastatingly good looking couple from across the backyard.

he’s with a girl named joanna tonight, her long raven hair pulled back into a tight braid. zayn can see why louis’ picked her; she’s overwhelmingly pretty, with her long eyelashes and high, couture cheekbones. louis is right gone over her, too, he can see it, can practically _feel_ it. he talked about her all last night, going on and on about her ‘sinful red lips,’ he had said, and her ‘thick, pocahontas hair,’ he had sighed dreamily. and zayn _aches_ ; he wants to be that so bad, wants to be the one louis’ eyes burn for, wants to the one louis kisses so roughly their teeth clack together clumsily.

but he’s not, and he never will be, so he settles for the wet, careless smooches that are currently being placed on his jaw by niall.

.

the smoke curls from his mouth as he exhales. it billows and wobbles, until it eventually ebbs away.

“are you alright, bro?” louis asks from his spot next to him on the windowsill as they stare out at the dreary, gray sky, with their legs hanging and swinging in tandem. it’s late october, the sky beginning to darken, along with zayn’s mood. he wants to call up liam, wants to rest his head on louis’ shoulder, wants to sleep until it’s spring, when the clouds says their goodbyes to each other and diminish.

“just peachy,”                            

“what’s up with you, zayn? talk to me,” louis pleads, his earnest gaze too intense, causing zayn to flit his eyes away shamefully. it’s you, he wants to bite out softly, you’re so beautiful in the winter, and i’m not allowed to have you, not allowed to brush your unruly fringe back, not allowed to bite at your lip or dig my nails into your hips.

instead, what he forces out is, “nothing, i swear it.” and louis knows he’s lying, he has to, but thankfully he drops it.

“so, you and niall?” louis ventures. “what is that about?”

zayn shrugs. “i don’t know why it bothers you so much,” and it’s true. louis has never liked him and niall fooling around. he doesn’t know if it’s out of protectiveness for niall or himself (probably for himself, as niall and louis don’t seem to like each other very much), but it’s not like they’re anything serious. for niall, he’s just a warm body, albeit one he calls his friend; and for zayn, niall is a friend who is an excellent shag, who doesn’t get angry or offended when he says the wrong name as he shudders through his orgasm.

“it just does,” louis twitches. his fingers wring together nervously. “i feel, like. i don’t know, i just don’t like it,”

and zayn is insanely gone for louis, with his messy, floppy hair that covers his forehead, a few pieces falling into his eyes. he carefully lays his head on louis’ shoulder, nuzzling his cheek against his soft graphic tee. louis’ arm loops around his neck, pulling him closer, kissing his hair and tapping a rhythm on his collarbones with his fingers.   

“i just. i don’t want you to get hurt,” louis finally says, dangerously close to a snap, voice short. his arm tightens, other hand coming to rest warmly on zayn’s thigh.

“i won’t. it’s nothing serious, louis, i promise you.” zayn insists.

“for right now, at least. what if you start to fall for him in the future, huh? and he just leaves you behind because what you’re doing ‘is nothing serious.’” louis says in a horrible imitation of zayn’s accent. “then i’d have to kick niall’s arse—which wouldn’t be problem, actually, the tosser fucking rubs me the wrong way.”

“why?”

louis sort of—tenses, at that, and he suspiciously avoids zayn’s eyes as he moves his shoulders up and down.

“okay…?” zayn laughs at that, lifting his head to punch louis in the arm. “anyway, like you could kick his arse, wanker, or anyone’s, for that matter. all the same, it won’t ever come to that.” he says, still chuckling faintly.

they settle, their chests rising and falling in sync, and somehow zayn works up the courage to whisper, “besides, i’m already in love with someone else.”

almost before the words have completely left his lips, louis’ arm clenches to the point of pain, and zayn hisses. when he pulls back to look at louis’ face, his gaze is stunned, murky with guilt that causes his eyes to become a dark, foggy blue. he palms the back of zayn’s skull with his hand and shoves their foreheads together. zayn’s breath hitches and he is frozen, completely unsure of what he’s supposed to do in this moment.

“do you—are you talking about me?” louis asks, accent thick. “you still love me?”

“of course i do,” zayn mumbles back, eyes fixated on louis’ mouth, the pink tongue that escapes to wet them.

“thank you,” he says, his voice hardly above a whisper. for a terrifying second, zayn thinks louis is going to kiss him and oh god, he can’t breathe. but louis just sets his lips firmly on zayn’s forehead for a split second, so quick zayn almost thinks he imagined it, and leaves without saying another word.

.

the club’s harsh beats leave residual pounding in his ears, the bright, zealous lights forcing zayn to see the imprints they leave behind his flittering eyelids. he’s slick with sweat from the dancing he did earlier, making him only slightly afraid that his beer will slip out of his hands. he’s restless and a little shaky now that the adrenaline has left his body, and he feels enormously small in the large room, bodies jostling him from every angle.

as he reaches the bar and sets his drink down, he tries to look around for a familiar face, frantically wondering how he let himself get separated from everyone. his eyes dart back and forth, trying to find louis or niall or harry or _anyone—_ and he had told them he wasn’t good at the whole “club scene,” much more comfortable lying with his head in someone’s lap while he slowly smokes a bowl, their fingers in the greasy strands of his reluctantly messy hair.

someone harshly bumps into him and he flinches; now that his brain has cleared, he’s much more aware of how rough and brutish these people are. he reaches for his beverage only to find it’s been tipped over by what he supposes is some college kid. zayn hears the bartender curse and flits his eyes up sheepishly.

“sorry,” he squirms, feeling guilty for no reason, really, because it wasn’t his fault some drunk dude knocked his drink over. but he feels responsible, anyway.

“not a big deal.” the large man says.

“let me help you clean it up, at least,”

“nobody’s allowed behind the bar, otherwise i would let ya,”

at that, zayn just nods and lets him be. until, “can you point me in the direction of the loo?”

the man points a bony finger behind him, and zayn nods in thanks. he walks away on legs that are sore from standing too long, and subtly tries to shake them out. he ambles over to the toilet, constantly bumping into people on his way. although he knows the people don’t hear him or care, he mumbles out _sorry_ every time.

it’s a relief when he finally steps into the bathroom. he can still hear the music from inside, but it’s significantly quieter and he instantly feels more at ease. the room is filthy, not that he expected any different, but he’s soothed nonetheless when he finds the sink is still relatively clean. he lets the water filter through the slots between his fingers for a few seconds, the coolness of the liquid mollifying the uncomfortable heat of his body.

zayn’s about to splash the water in his face when he hears a noise from somewhere behind him. his gaze travels to the mirror and he starts. he doesn’t know how he hadn’t noticed before, but now he is painfully aware of the beat up vans that seem to fit in a disgusting floor such as this one, scuffed up and stained. he looks closer, and his stomach lurches as the guy’s trousers ride up a little around his ankles and—

he sees a small tattoo of a screw identical to the one on his own.

suddenly it seems as if it _is_ deafeningly loud here, as if the walls are closing in on him before he can escape because now that he stops to listen, he can hear quiet and muffled moans that are distinctly _louis_ pulsating in his eardrums. and fuck if zayn doesn’t hate himself when he twitches in his boxers, a vision of louis pounding into some faceless chick the hottest he thinks he’s ever seen.

he pictures louis gripping her waist tight enough to leave pearly white imprints until she would wrap her legs around his waist and gasp a little too loudly; at this louis would press his hand against her mouth, whisper _shh_ through the hitches in his own breath, heavy smirk set on his face, pressing wet and sloppy kisses to her neck, sucking a red bruise there.

zayn is fully hard now, cock straining against the front of his jeans. he knows he shouldn’t, knows he will never be able to look at louis the same way again, but apparently he doesn’t care, because he walks backwards until his bum hits the wall juxtaposed to the stall louis’ in. it’s a bit difficult unbuttoning his pants because his hands are shaking so hard he has to take about twenty quiet and quick breaths so as not to clue the couple in that there’s someone in there with them.

his eyes clench together and he sucks in a sharp breath as he fists his cock, tightening to the point of pain reflexively. he starts off slow, thumb spreading the precome that’s embarrassingly already gathering at the tip. as he jacks himself, he tries to focus on louis’ low groans and gasps but it’s a trying task, as the girl he’s shagging seems to be a screamer. zayn falls into it eventually, twists his fist and forces himself to go faster as her moans become more shrill.

in the picture he’s arranged in his head paired with the evidence he’s hearing, he imagines louis’ full hips pistoling quicker now, his thrusts fierce and deep. and zayn’s close, he’s so goddamn close it’s humiliating, absolutely pathetic and he fucking _loathes_ himself.

the girl lets out a bitten moan and zayn jerks with arousal when louis says with a voice that’s whisky thick, low and breathy in that sharp tone he has, “are you—” and she gasps, “ _yes_ , fuck—i’m gonna—oh god, right there, f- _fuck_ ,”

he bites his lip so hard it bleeds as louis breathes, “come for me.” and zayn does.

the girl does, too, her loud shrieks ricocheting off the grimy walls.

it shoots zayn back to reality, come cooling where it’s spilled over his fist. he needs to get out of here and fast, before he does something stupid like dissolve into tears or _worse_ , burst into their stall and reveal to louis what he’s just done. he wipes his hand on his boxers, buttons up his trousers and stumbles out of the bathroom, legs quivering from the intensity of the orgasm. he pretends he doesn’t hear the lazy and careless, “oh shit, i think someone was—”

he calls a taxi and tries to calm his breathing on the drive back to his house. he was supposed to stay over at louis’, but—he can’t, there’s no fucking way.

and if he gets texts that night from louis that say, _hey where are you !!_ then zayn just ignores them and falls into a restless sleep.

.

because it’s winter holiday, zayn hasn’t spoken to louis in five days.

not for lack of trying, but every time he pulls out his phone to call him, his palms get so sweaty his phone slips out of his hands. he’s constantly having to dodge louis’ texts and calls, eventually just switching it off because he can’t deal with it. he hasn’t been sleeping well, either, desperately trying to forget about the situation and what he did, but for some reason it’s all he can think about. and every time he does, he remembers louis’ low gasps, the sound of flesh hitting flesh, the _smell_ of gritty sex in the air.

his family has started to guess that something’s off with him, too, being surprisingly patient with him even though he’s barely left his room in nearly a week. it’s probably better that way though, because he hasn’t wanked in the same amount of time, too guilty and embarrassed, and all-too-knowing of what mental picture would pop up.

it’s not like he can avoid louis forever, he knows his birthday is coming up in about a week, but he can’t help it. he feels like if he saw louis right now, he would just let everything come out, and while louis may have accepted that zayn’s in love with him, he figures learning that your best friend gets off on your fucking another girl would be a tough pill to swallow.

right now, he’s sitting in the middle of his bed, back pressed up against the headboard, sketch book propped up on his knees, when his mother yells up from downstairs, “zayn, someone’s here to see you!”

chills scramble up zayn’s spine as he hears someone enter his room, their shoe-clad feet scuffing on the carpet. he prays to whoever’s listening that it isn’t louis.

but then he sags with relief as a soft voice tentatively says, “hi.”

he doesn’t look up from his drawing. “what are you doing here, liam?”

“well, louis called me worried about you. says you haven’t talked to him in like, a week?” he pauses. “since you guys went to that club, actually. wanna tell me what that’s about? i figured louis had to be desperate if he was calling me.”

zayn sits in silence, forces himself to breathe. he hears liam sigh, defeated, and droops a bit as he comes up to the side of his bed and sits by his feet. he sighs again, and zayn feels the familiar knot of guilt work its way into his stomach, but he still can’t look the other boy in the eyes.

“you don’t have to tell me,” liam says, wrapping a steady hand around zayn’s ankle. “but i think you need to tell someone _something_ , zayn. or it’s gonna destroy you.”

that makes zayn stop, his muscles tensing up so fast it hurts, and he stiffly sets his sketchpad beside him. he fiddles with his fingers in his lap, and lets out a shaky breath. “honestly, i’m afraid it already has.” zayn eventually gets out, exhausted. “i did something stupid. i did a dumb, stupid thing and now i can’t stop thinking about it.”

liam doesn’t say anything, which zayn is grateful for. when he finally lifts his eyes, he sees liam’s worried gaze. he shifts against his headboard and shuts his eyes, suddenly ready to sleep for a hundred years. he is so _tired_ of trying to figure out this mess in his head, but it’s like—he knows louis will never love him the same, but he—louis is like a fucking drug, he thinks, but even deadlier, because zayn can’t get him out of his blood stream. even worse: he doesn’t want to. he’s been in love with louis for as long as he can remember, probably even before that, and. well, he doesn’t much know at the moment.

what he did, though—zayn will never be able to forgive himself. if he were someone else, if zayn wasn’t designed to be this broody and overthink everything, it wouldn’t even matter. but he fucking—he listened to louis _shag a girl_ , for chrissake. and _got off on it_. if louis knew…if louis knew he would never want to speak to zayn again, and zayn would completely understand. it’s filthy, what he did; perverted and something a thirteen year old boy would do with their crush.

“liam, i—” he stops.

“what?”

zayn says nothing (can’t). he doesn’t trust his voice quite yet.

liam makes a distressed sound when he sees zayn’s tears and _fuck_ , why is he crying? he feels like such a goddamn baby sometimes. he senses liam crawling up beside him and tries to compose himself.

“it’s okay, it’s fine,” zayn says, and he doesn’t really know who he’s trying to reassure. he’s mostly just saying words. “everything is cool.”

“zayn…”

“sorry,” he mutters, embarrassed.

“don’t apologize,” liam says, putting his arm around zayn’s shoulder. “just tell me what’s going on. i don’t like seeing you upset.”

“oh, god, liam…you can never tell anyone, _especially_ louis.”

“okay…”

he swallows. “so, like, when we were at the club, i was feelin’ a bit overwhelmed, and. i go to the bathroom, right, and i think i’m in there alone, but then i hear these, noises?” he says. his voice tremors a bit, and he’s grateful liam doesn’t mention it. “and i see in the mirror…a tattoo. _our tattoo_ , liam.”

“zayn…” liam repeats, a little warily.

“i think you can guess what louis was doin’, yeah?” he forces out a self-deprecating laugh. “and i—i didn’t leave. i stayed in there, with them, and had a proper wank to the sounds of louis having sex.”

“ _oh_. oh, z, um.”

“and i feel absolutely disgusting, like the scum of the earth, like. who does that? _god_ ,” he huffs.

“so…that’s why you’ve been avoiding louis?” liam asks.

“yeah, i just. i can’t see him right now. and it’s not his fault, of course, but like—at the moment, i think if i saw him, i’d just burst into tears, really.”

“but…” liam starts. “maybe just shoot him a text or summat? he’s really worried about you, zayn. because not only are you not talking to _him_ , you’re not talking to anyone else either.”

“yeah, maybe,” he concedes.

“think about it, zayn. like you said, louis didn’t do anything wrong, right? so just send him a quick text, let him know you’re alright.”

so later that night, when liam leaves, zayn turns on his discarded phone and sends louis a message.

_i’m ok_

.

about two nights later, zayn is woken up by what sounds like rocks being thrown at his window.

really? zayn asks himself, i’m gonna fucking murder niall.

but when he sticks his head out of his window, he sees louis. with a handful of pebbles. outside his bedroom window.

“ _louis_ ,” he whispers furiously, “what are you doing? it’s like three in the fucking morning!”

“yeah i know you wanker, figured you’d have no choice to talk to me if i did this.” there’s a pause. “are ya gonna let me in or not?”

zayn scowls, but his heart pounds like a drum in his chest as he walks downstairs to open the front door, louis hastily pushing his way inside.

it’s more than a bit awkward as louis situates himself in the living room on the couch, because zayn drags his feet a little, lags behind in the doorway. he _really_ doesn’t want to face louis yet.

“well, come on,” urges the previously mentioned lad impatiently.

he groans a tiny bit under his breath as he sits on the couch as well, a safe distance away from louis. he avoids his eyes, looking absolutely anywhere else, being undoubtedly extremely obvious. not for the first time, he thinks that sending that text to louis was a mistake; it clearly spurred him into this. louis makes an impatient noise, and zayn starts. oh, yeah.

“i don’t…i don’t know what you want me to say, louis.”

“oh, really?” louis asks as his eyebrows raise. he looks angry and irritated. “you haven’t spoken to me in like, a week. longer, maybe. you wanna tell me why?”

“not really, if i’m honest,”

“well, too bad.” he insists.

“lou—” zayn starts, but stops. he hasn’t thought of a reason to tell louis that isn’t the real reason. and there is _no fucking way_ he is telling him that, over his dead body. “i just needed some time away. from you, from everyone. don’t take it personally.”

“how can i not? you talked to liam, i know you did.” louis says, sounding wounded and hurt. it’s unusual for him to be so upfront with how he feels. “he wouldn’t say why you’re so upset, though.”

“i can’t tell you,” zayn says honestly, sending a silent thank you to liam in his head.

“but, _why_?” he sounds so lost, so confused, and zayn winces. “i don’t understand, zayn. we’ve never kept secrets from each other.”

bullshit, zayn wants to say, because i was in love with you for three years before i told you.

instead, he sighs, low and deep, letting a frustrated sound seep through. “you’re not going to be satisfied with any answer i give you. i can’t give you a reason, i’m sorry.”

louis scoots a bit closer on the couch, hesitant in a way it’s never been between them. his fingers twitch like he wants to reach out and embrace zayn, and zayn sort of wishes he would, but he stays where he is. “but can you—can you stop now? have you had your space, or whatever?”

no, he whispers in his mind. there will never be enough space between us, and there will always be too much.

“yeah,” zayn whispers after a long moment, hands shaking. “yeah, i think i have.”

“good, because i missed you, and i was really worried about you.” he laughs gently, and a little sadly. “still am, if i’m honest, because you won’t tell me what’s wrong with you.”

“i’m sorry,”

“don’t be,” louis says as he finally reaches out and ruffles zayn’s hair, grinning a bit, eyes just barely creasing at the corners. zayn laughs and swats his hands out of the way, his laugh interrupted by a long yawn. “sorry for waking you up.” the other boy says sheepishly.

“it’s okay. you’re staying the night, right?” he says sleepily, rubbing his eyes which he just now acknowledges are so heavy he can barely hold them upright.

louis makes a sound of agreeance, and when zayn looks at him, he has an odd expression on his face. it clears away quick, though, before zayn can put much thought behind it.

.

for louis’ birthday, he throws a party at harry’s house.

harry’s parents are gone for christmas eve, off visiting some relative that harry’s apparently never even heard of. the party wasn’t meant to be christmas themed exactly, but there are decorations around the house, and a huge, lit up tree in the middle of the foyer.

it’s two hours in, and there’s too many people; it’s almost impossible to move three feet without bumping into someone who’s most likely drunk. zayn doesn’t even think louis knows all of these people, but that’s never been an issue for him. there’s some strange music blaring, and he just has a feeling louis picked it.

zayn danced for a while, but it’s really not his thing, and he’s trying to figure out a place to escape for a couple of minutes. he’s nursing a beer but it’s gone warm from being in his hand and tastes vile, so he sets it on the floor and sends an apology to harry in his head. he feels sweaty and sticky and altogether too hot, and he tries to remember where harry’s kitchen is, but it’s hard when his mind is so fuzzy.

he grabs the arm of some random guy and asks him if he has any idea where the kitchen is, and the dude throws a drunken hand to his right. he’s probably wrong since he seems pretty trashed, but zayn doesn’t really have any other option so he might as well go in that direction and hope for the best. pushing through the crowds of people is tedious and grows increasingly more irritating every time zayn is shoved backwards. by the time he reaches the kitchen he’s grumpy, and in need of another drink.

the kitchen is fairly crowded, but not nearly as crowded as everywhere else, and zayn actually has room to breathe, so he’s not going to complain. he’s just about to reach into the cooler for another beer when he feels a tap on his shoulder. he turns around to find louis, flushed nicely with drink, looking completely joyful and wasted, huge smile on his face.

“zayner!” he cries, audible over the loud music. “are you havin’ a good time?”

“’course, louis,”

“good ‘cause i thought that…you weren’t gonna have a good time, y’know? like, i know this isn’t your thing and all, y’know?” louis slurs, placing his hands on zayn’s shoulders. he’s moving his thumbs in a sloppy circular motion and it’s very. distracting.

“i get ya, louis, it’s cool,”

louis, being the affectionate drunk that he is, gathers him up in a hug. he clumsily pats zayn’s back and mumbles things he can’t understand, and it’s all very cute like louis usually is. he pulls back to press a kiss to zayn’s cheek, which is fine, it’s normal, he presses a kiss to the corner of zayn’s mouth, which—okay, they don’t usually do that but zayn’s not going to freak out. and then.

and then.

and then, louis is pressing his mouth to zayn’s, and he kisses back, of course he does, but he doesn’t really have any clue what’s going on right now. zayn wonders if he’s more drunk than he thought, or if he’s actually asleep right now, but then louis’ tongue traces his lips and yeah, he’s definitely awake and this is definitely happening.

he opens his mouth, and their tongues meet, twisting around each other before louis pulls back. their foreheads are still pressed together, and it’s only now that zayn realizes he’s got his hands on louis’ hips, gripping them tight. he lets go suddenly, accidentally jostling louis so they’re a couple steps apart now. zayn feels like he isn’t breathing, he feels like he’s about to be punched in the face, he doesn’t know how he feels because he has no idea what happened.

it must read in his face because louis’ face scrunches up and he says, “oh noooo, you look sad. tell me what’s wrong, zayn, we can talk about it. we can cry, we can…we can kiss some more.” before he laughs.

which is just enough to remind zayn that louis’ drunk, and he doesn’t care, and this doesn’t change anything, and. he needs to go home. he shoves past louis, mumbling “happy birthday,” before he walks outside and catches a lift home.

it was a drunken kiss, but it was a kiss, and zayn clearly remembers how louis’ lips felt against his own. he can only hope louis doesn’t.

.

on christmas morning, he calls louis to see how hungover he is and what he remembers from last night.

thankfully, he doesn’t seem to recall kissing zayn. unfortunately, zayn doesn’t get to be that lucky.

.

“zayn!”

he turns around to see niall jogging towards him, cheeks flushed, and harry strolling casually behind him, both wearing light jackets. it’s been two months since winter hols ended, two months since louis’ birthday party, and the weather has brightened up a bit. it feels like a huge release off his shoulders.

“hey, guys,” he says when they both reach him.

“you eating lunch with us today?” harry asks, one eyebrow raised in a picture of cool indifference. beside him, he can see niall smile hopefully.

“is _she_ going to be there?” he asks hesitantly.

harry purses his lips a bit, and niall’s smile falters. he feels bad ruining the mood over something generally stupid, but. see, after holidays ended, louis had acquired a new girlfriend, a sweet brunette from london named eleanor. not a big deal, same old same old, but after about a month or so, zayn noticed something a bit different.

she was still around.

and zayn tried to hate her, he really did, but he couldn’t. she was extremely sweet, ridiculously so, and adored louis to bits. she never had anything mean to say about anybody, and was friends with absolutely everyone around school, even though she was still relatively new. a lot like louis in that sense. now, two months later, eleanor was still bubbly and kind, and she was still louis’ girlfriend.

this is new territory for zayn, because louis has never had a girlfriend for longer than a month. he has to memorize entirely new expressions on louis’ face. so zayn’s been a little bit of a coward, avoiding louis on and off in the span of these two months. for the past week, however, he’s been completely avoiding him, opting to eat lunch in the art room and dragging liam with him.

harry tuts and brings zayn back into the moment. “yes, she’s going to be there, zayn. but sit with us anyway, c’mon.”

niall makes a sound of agreement, “please, zayn. it’s boring without you around and harry won’t stop talking about yoga, or summat.”

zayn’s shoulders slump, but the corners of his mouth tug up a little bit. he knows _exactly_ what it’s like to be stuck in a conversation about ‘healthy living’ with harry. “fine.”

niall gives a loud cheer and presses a sloppy kiss to his cheek. he keeps an arm around zayn’s shoulder while they walk to where they normally sit and eat lunch. he sees louis first, brows slightly furrowed, looking down at his food, nodding occasionally. then he sees eleanor, brunette hair swishing back and forth as she talks animatedly.

louis’ face brightens when he catches sight of him. “zayn!” he yells happily, effectively interrupting whatever eleanor was saying. he gets up and opens his arms wide to give zayn a warm but quick hug. “where have you and liam been all week?” he asks as he sits back down.

“the art room. but liam’s out sick today.”

“oh,” louis says. “well, it’s been borin’ without you,” he concludes, even though his girlfriend is sitting right next to him.

“anyways, what were you guys talking about?” zayn asks, trying to start a new topic. he scoots a bit into niall so that their thighs are pressed together.

“oh!” eleanor exclaims, “my birthday is coming up and we were talking about having a party the saturday before my actual birthday.”

“oh yeah? where?”

“my favorite place,” louis chimes in, grinning smugly.

“ _louis_ ,” zayn groans. “it’s not the mahiki is it?”

“that’s the place! why, is there something wrong with it?” eleanor asks a little worriedly.

“no, he just hates it there because—”

“—louis cannot physically fathom going anyplace else—”

“—one time zayn got blitzed and threw up on this fit bloke’s shoes. he hasn’t been back since.”

“oh yeah, i remember that. hilarious, that was,” harry laughs, not looking up from his phone which he’s been texting on the whole time. niall has, too, zayn notes.

“it’s not going to be a problem is it?” eleanor asks.

“of course not,” zayn smiles, even though he doesn’t plan on going. it’s a little weird. he barely even knows her and he’s in love with her boyfriend who also happens to be his best friend. but there’s no need to be cruel and say that, so he lies.

.

later that night, zayn’s sitting on his bed sketching when he should be doing homework. he turns to his speakers and picks his r’n’b playlist, feeling a bit down for reasons unknown to him. he’s not bothered by this, exactly, since it happens quite often and he has gotten used to it. he does, however, wish he knew the root of his feelings, and why he feels so empty at times; why it feels like someone has ripped open the bottom of his feet and let everything inside him drip and dribble out slowly.

zayn pulls his jacket up around his shoulders while he gets up to close his windows. he doesn’t like to think about these things; if he festers about it for too long, he ends up feeling worse. he’s learned to just accept it and mostly ignore it (at least that’s what he’s told himself.)

from its spot in the middle of his bed, his phone starts to buzz. he quickly finishes shutting the windows and scrambles over to answer before it goes to voicemail. “hello?” he asks a bit breathlessly.

“hey,” he hears louis laugh, “what were you doing? you sound out of breath,”

“oh i was just trying to get to the phone before the call was missed.” he explains quickly. “anyways, what’s up?”

“um,” louis stammers, sounding uncharacteristically awkward all of a sudden. “this is a weird subject for me to talk to you about. like, it might be none of my business—”

“what is it?” zayn presses, knowing louis will dance around the topic for too long unless zayn pushes him.

“it’s just—i saw niall with someone…” he confesses, “like, a girl someone? you know what i mean, right?”

“oh,” zayn says uselessly.

“and i was just wondering if you—if you like, knew about it? or,” he blows out a breath, “fuck it, forget i called, it was stupid.”

“no, you’re alright,” zayn is fast to assure. he feels a little weird; not jealous he doesn’t think, just hurt, a little betrayed that niall wouldn’t tell him he was seeing someone. it does, however, explain niall’s weirdness lately. zayn had been meaning to ask him about that, but he never got around to it. “but why did you need to tell me? we’ve never been anything serious.”

“yeah, i know that. i only thought that if he was seeing this girl, but shagging you, it isn’t fair to her, you know? but also ‘cause it wasn’t fair to you, either.”

“it’s not like he was cheating on me, louis.”

“i knew you wouldn’t get it,” the other boy says after a pause, annoyed.

“can you blame me? you’ve never been a fan of us fucking, and i’ve accepted it, yeah? but i don’t _get it_ ,” he mocks, “because you haven’t given me a reason. don’t sigh like that, either, okay? you know what i mean. i’ve told you time and time again that—i don’t fancy niall, he doesn’t fancy me. that’s it. but you’re still all squeamish about it, and that’s what i’m not getting.”

“i just. i don’t like…” louis trails off. “i’ve never liked niall, really, and i don’t…i don’t like the idea of you being in a relationship.” he rushes out.

_what?_

“you—what the fuck? what the fuck does that even mean, louis?” he growls.

“no—it’s—because you’ve never had a real boyfriend or girlfriend, zayn! i don’t want you getting hurt!”

“cut the shit. i’m—i can’t believe you, louis.” he scoffs. “what—i’m not allowed to move on? i’m not allowed to fall in love with someone else and be happy? is that what it is?”

“no—”

“are you _jealous_?” he asks incredulously.

“ _no_!” louis yells a little defensively. “that’s… that’s not it, zayn.”

“then _what is it_? and if you say ‘i don’t want you getting hurt’ i am never speaking to you again.”

he can actually hear louis swallow on the other side of the line. he usually hates when louis’ upset, because it doesn’t happen very often, but he firmly tells himself that he does. not. care. because this isn’t fair to zayn at all.

“i honestly can’t give you a reason, zayn.” louis sighs, sounding defeated and guilty. (zayn doesn’t care, he doesn’t.)

“oh? well call me again when you can, because i’d really like to know.” he snaps.

“zayn—”

“gotta go, lou. see you tomorrow, i guess,”

he hangs up and chucks his phone across the room, not even flinching when he hears it impact with the wall. he’s so angry his hands are shaking, and he doesn’t know how to calm down. he wishes he could turn back time; he would never have answered that call if he knew this would be the result. because if zayn’s honest with himself, he’s more confused than angry.

why would louis not like him in a relationship? it’s not like louis’ expressed any feelings towards zayn other than friendship, besides when they kissed, but he was drunk so it doesn’t count. it’s not like louis _owns_ him. and yes, he’ll always be in love with louis, but eventually zayn is going to have to find someone else. he can’t pathetically pine after louis forever.

if he didn’t know him, he’d think louis was being self-centered—being pompous because he knows that zayn has always loved him, and will continue to love him even though it isn’t reciprocated. but there was something in louis’ voice—his reasons aren’t coming from selfishness. which is what’s bugging zayn—if it’s not arrogance, then what’s the problem? why would louis have any issues with zayn moving on, finding someone else to love, finally being happy after watching louis with others all these years?

suddenly feeling extremely exhausted, zayn runs his hands through his hair and changes into his pajamas. he falls asleep almost as soon as his head hits the pillow.

.

(the next day, louis corners zayn when he’s about to start walking home. he embraces zayn instantly, hugging for longer than is socially acceptable, squeezing tighter every five seconds or so.

“i’m sorry,” is all he says. louis never apologizes.

he doesn’t offer an explanation and zayn doesn’t ask.)

.

as much as zayn loathes to admit, louis’ words _do_ get under his skin. (as they always do.)

so that wednesday, zayn timidly grabs niall’s wrist after class and pulls him to the side.  he hasn’t felt this awkward around him since they first met.

niall gives him a bright smile, cheerful as always. he pulls his wrist out of zayn’s loose grip, and that’s. unusual. a little disconcerting.

“what’s up?” niall asks.

zayn has to swallow two times before he’s able to use his vocal chords. what the hell is wrong with him? “can i talk to you?”

“always, mate.”

“not…” he glances around at the crowded halls of their school, the hustle and bustle of busy teenagers, the loud conversations, and thinks this discussion is a little more private. “not here. your place after school, yeah?”

“sure,” niall confirms. he gives zayn a knowing smile. “see you then.”

zayn is extremely confused, and a little hurt as the other boy walks away from him. maybe louis is right, he thinks.

as he jumps into niall’s car once school ends, zayn feels distinctly not right. he wants to ask right now, to get it over with so he doesn’t have to sit through this extremely uncomfortable car ride. the trip is absolutely silent and zayn feels itchy; he desperately wants to ask niall if they can turn on the radio or something, just to get rid of the quiet, but he has this strange, nonsensical feeling that the other boy would snap at him if he spoke up. which is ridiculous, really, because niall is extremely nice, and has never yelled at him for any reason. even when zayn probably deserved it.

as they pull into niall’s driveway, zayn’s nerves are at an all-time high. how does he even go about this?

‘hey, niall, are you kinda sorta cheating on me? except not really, since we’re not exclusive, serious, or in love.’ yeah, that’ll go over well. he stiffly shuffles out of the vehicle and they make their way into niall’s bedroom. why is he being so stupid? it’s not like niall wants to stop being _friends_ —at least zayn hopes not.

he jumps a little when he hears niall shut the door behind them. he can’t help it, really; he’s so nervous, and he really shouldn’t be.

“skittish, are we?” the shorter boy laughs. he sprawls out clumsily on the bed, legs hanging off halfway. zayn keeps standing, completely unsure as to how he’s supposed to start this conversation. god, he feels so out of place.

“um,” he stammers stupidly. he wipes his sweaty hands on his jeans, and debates sitting at the edge of the bed. he takes a couple steps toward it but then thinks better of it, and winces. niall smiles at him, confused and somewhat amused, and pats a spot on the bed beside him. zayn jerkily lays down next to him, careful not to let their arms brush.

“what’s got you so wound up?” niall says.

“i really don’t know how to start this?” he begins with difficulty.

“just say it.”

“i’m trying,” zayn says despairingly. “okay, so like two days ago, louis said some things… about you? and it kind of… got to me.”

“well, louis’ a fucking wanker.” niall snaps, and zayn recoils a tiny bit. 

“yeah, anyway,” he continues, not wanting to argue with the other boy. it’s not like it would make a difference. niall and louis openly dislike each other, for reasons unbeknownst to zayn, and he can’t seem to figure out why. “he said that he saw you with a girl. is that… is that true?” he peeks briefly at niall, who seems to be uncomfortable and sheepish all of a sudden. zayn clears his throat. “i mean, i won’t be mad, or whatever. it’d just be nice if you like, told me? that you wanted to stop whatever it is we’re doing.”

he stops, but niall is still silent, and—well, if zayn’s truly honest, that pisses him off a little bit.

“i mean, it’s a bit shit, really, that you were just gonna leave me hangin’. you weren’t even gonna say anything to me, and that’s bollocks. i thought we were friends, at least, but i guess not and that’s alright, yeah? but you could’ve fucking let me know, or something.”

“zayn—”

now he’s proper angry. “no, it’s fine,” he growls as he begins to leave the bed.

“no, zayn, please—” niall pleads as he grabs his arm and tugs him back down. he sits up and rubs one of his hands through his bleached hair, his other hand still around zayn’s wrist. “i meant to tell you, i promise.”

“then why didn’t you?”

“i didn’t know how? it’s a shit excuse, i know, and i’m sorry, but it’s all i have.” niall says, eyes wide with urgency. “i was trying to figure out a way to tell you without hurting you.”

“that’s just what _everybody_ wants, isn’t it?” zayn yells out, too frustrated to stay calm and collected like he usually is. “you and louis both, i swear, you’re the fucking same—which is probably why you two clash so much. trying to _protect me_ , like i’m some fucking—i’m not some little lamb, or whatever.”

“zayn, i know that. i can’t speak for louis, but it’s just, you’re.” niall pauses, seemingly trying to string his words together. “you’re so… little.”

“i’m taller than you!” he huffs, irritated. “and older!”

“not on the inside.”

that brings zayn to a pause. niall’s words are truer than he’d like to admit, and that bugs him. “has liam said something to you?”

“no,” niall denies. “i’m just observant, believe it or not. and you’re more obvious than you think you are.”

zayn shakes his head and deflates. “it doesn’t matter.” he states firmly. “i’m not a child, is what i’m trying to say. you should’ve told me.”

“you’re right, i should’ve.”

“you—” zayn feels cold inside, and out of sorts. he lies back on niall’s bed and wraps his arms around himself. “stop being reasonable, i’m angry with you.”

niall laughs, and angles his body so he’s facing zayn more directly. “okay. but you’re one of my best friends, zayn, and i just wanted you to be alright. that’s why i waited so long.” he places a warm hand on zayn’s stomach. “you act like you’re fine and dandy with all the shit with louis, but i know it affects you more than you let on.”

“i don’t wanna talk about this,” zayn says, averting his eyes. he’s extremely embarrassed and uncomfortable, but he cover niall’s hand with his own and links their fingers together. “so, what’s her name?”

“you sure you wanna hear about this?” the other boy asks him, raising his eyebrows. at zayn’s affirmative noise, he gives a slow grin and looks very smitten. it’s sickening, really. “her name’s barbara. she’s fuckin’ gorgeous, mate, i don’t…”

as niall continues to drone on and on about _barbara_ , zayn eyes begin to feel heavy. he soon falls asleep, his belly warm from the heat radiating off of niall’s palm, and his ears buzzing from the younger boy’s continuous irish lilt.

i’m gonna miss this, zayn realizes. i’m gonna miss niall, the familiarity and the comfort and the warmth he gives. and sure, they’ll still be friends, but it’s… not the same. ever since he and niall started their _thing_ , he has always wished that he could just fall in love with niall instead. it’d be so much _easier_.

but he isn’t in love with niall. he’s in love with louis; louis with all his brashness and all of his defences, all of his kindess that’s masked by indifference. the louis that everyone sees and the louis that only few see, zayn loves them all.

.

it’s a friday night and zayn is thinking about college.

he has to think about college unfortunately, because he’s about to graduate and it’s all happening so fast. his older sister doniya has already moved out, and he’s the next to go, and it’s just scary, if he’s being honest. growing up, and all. it’s not a pleasant topic to think about but he knows he has to.

he’s torn: english major or art major. both are subjects he’s loved since he was a child, but he doesn’t know which he wants to do as a career for the rest of his life. and sure, maybe zayn doesn’t have to decide right now, but it feels like he does, with all of his teachers and counselors and even his parents breathing down his neck, building up the pressure until he feels like he might burst.

he also has to factor in distance. as far as he knows, his friends are staying local, although he knows that could change in the future. he doesn’t want to go too far away from his friends and his family, but most of the schools he’s looking at are a fair distance away, and he’s not sure whether he should suck it up or choose schools a little closer to home.

there’s a knock on zayn’s bedroom door and he’s relieved, head already hurting from the decisions he has to make.

“what are you doing?” louis asks, making himself comfortable on zayn’s bed. he’s lying on his back with his ankles crossed, shoes on the floor.

“trying to decide my future,” zayn groans, “it’s all so complicated.”

he gives up on it for right now, knowing he won’t be able to choose anything with louis here. he crawls up beside louis and flops down, burying his face in his pillow.

“where are you planning on going?” the other boy says, voice soft. zayn loves louis like this, hair brushed and sitting nicely across his forehead; he’s wearing a plain white t-shirt and sweats, and he seems relaxed and unguarded. zayn thinks he might be the only one who gets to see louis like this, where he’s not running on fourth gear, a little ball of energy. now he just seems calm and a little sleepy.

“i’m not sure yet, but all my first choices are a bit of a drive from here.”

“you’re not planning on leaving, are you?” louis turns on his side to face zayn.

“i wouldn’t leave you,” he tries to tease, but it falls flat, because he’s not joking.

“good,” louis whispers, brushing a piece of zayn’s hair away from his face. “what would i do without you?”

“you’d have to pass all your classes yourself.”

louis laughs, pulling zayn in so they’re cuddling, faces in each other’s necks. it’s been a while since they’ve been this close, because they’ve both just been so busy. the last semester of high school is brutal.

“best friends for life, yeah?” asks louis, throwing the question out into zayn’s darkened bedroom, and when he closes his eyes he sees louis when he was ten years old, tiny freckles on his small face, eyes shining blue in the blazing sun, caring about zayn when no one else other than his family really did. he’s hit with an overwhelming tenderness and tightens his grasp around louis.

“for life.”

.

it’s a saturday night, and zayn is home alone. his parents and his sisters have gone to visit his aunt but he’s stayed behind, begged his mom to let him stay home because he’s sick. he’s not really sick, and he’s almost positive his mom could tell, but she let it go, and told him to get some rest. which is exactly what he’s trying to do, but he can’t seem to fall asleep.

eleanor’s party is tonight and he promised louis that he would go, despite not having any intentions to attend at all. and zayn’s lying in his bed, thinking about what is probably happening right now. louis’ most likely got his arms wrapped around her, faces pressed together, louis whispering in her ear. he’s probably kissing her, hands at her waist before falling to her hips.

zayn thinks back to when louis kissed him, how soft his lips were, how firmly he had pushed his mouth onto zayn’s, no hesitation at all. it’s no use thinking about this at all but he can’t help it, because he has never felt like he did in that moment, stomach bubbling with shock and warmth and confusion.

there are some days where zayn wishes louis had remembered, because maybe the other boy would realize he never wanted to stop kissing zayn. but then zayn comes back down to earth, back to reality, where he knows louis loves eleanor, loves life, and loves zayn too, but it’s not the same.

it’s far too late to be thinking like this, clock edging at one am, so he turns onto his side and squeezes his eyes shut. eventually he falls asleep.

.

there’s a heavy weight pressing against his back, and he knows it’s louis by the hands tickling up his sides, but judging by the light behind his eyelids it’s way too early to even be alive right now.

“zayn, wake up.” whispers louis in his ear, voice amused and hands now pinching at his skin.

“get off me,” zayn mumbles. he clenches his eyes shut tighter in a weak attempt at ignoring louis so he can go back to sleep.

louis huffs before he slides off zayn and settles at his side, and zayn just knows he has his annoyed face on. he starts flicking at his nose, just to get on his nerves, before he pokes at his eyelids and zayn knows there’s absolutely no point in trying to fall back asleep. he blinks his eyes open and sees louis in front of him, curled on his side in a red jumper.

“what are you doing here?” he grumps.

louis shrugs, “what were you doing last night?”

zayn knows he’s talking about the party. he doesn’t seem mad, just curious, eyes searching his own for an answer. “well…” zayn starts, trailing off quickly because he’s really not sure where’s he’s going with that.

“you don’t have to lie to me, zayn. you could’ve told me you didn’t wanna go.”

he swallows, looking away from louis, because he knows he’s right. he hadn’t wanted to let louis down, but he guesses he did anyway.

“eleanor and i broke up,” rushes louis, quickly saying the words while he breathes out.

shock vibrates through zayn, “what happened?”

“i was really drunk last night, and i guess i wouldn’t stop going on about you and how you weren’t there and…i don’t know, i guess el thought it was weird that i wouldn’t stop talking about you. so she broke up with me.”

zayn tries to conceal his gasp. holy shit. eleanor broke up with louis, over _him_. guilt fills him and he turns over so he can reach out for louis, hand soft on his upper arm. louis inches closer to him, ankles touching, and sighs a little before fixing his fringe the way he does when he’s nervous. it’s not very often that louis comes off as small as he is, always larger than life, but right now as he’s curled up in zayn’s bed, he seems muted and so, so young. he looks tired because he’s probably hungover, and zayn wants nothing more than to hug him, but he stays where he is.

he needs to say this, “i’m sorry, louis. sorry for everything—i shouldn’t have lied to you. i was being selfish.”

“that’s okay,” louis murmurs. he nods in understanding before he grabs loosely at zayn’s wrist, thumb pressing lightly into his pulse point. “i remember, you know,”

“remember what?”

“i kissed you, on my birthday, and i don’t wanna sound like a loser but it was the best birthday present i got that night.” louis says, smiling faintly, looking at zayn with an expression he can’t decipher. his hand slides from zayn’s wrist to the side of his face, palm warm and slightly sweaty on his cheek.

zayn is completely still, afraid to move in case he wakes up and finds this has all just been a dream. it wouldn’t be the first time he’s dreamt something like this, but it feels so real. fuck, it is real. he stares at louis’ lips, heart pounding so hard and so fast he swears the other boy can feel it. once again louis scoots closer, inch by inch until there’s no space between them, louis’ lips a gentle press on his own.

it’s a soft kiss, and zayn can’t help but grasp at louis’ hips to pull them against his, warm spreading throughout zayn’s body. he tentatively presses his tongue against louis’ lips, just a small touch, and louis immediately opens his mouth.

the kiss becomes more intense, louis’ hands sliding up into zayn’s hair and barely tugging, tongues gliding together. louis tastes so fucking good, like mint and cinnamon and laughter all mixed together and zayn can’t help but moan, squeezing his grip on the other boy’s hips. he moves onto his back, pulling louis on top of him so he can have more access to his neck, lips smudging at louis’ chin and jaw, licking at his neck.

louis releases a breath, something similar to a laugh and it sounds like jingle bells to zayn’s ears. his hands go to zayn’s waist, slipping under his thin sleep shirt and rucking it up so his belly is exposed, fingers pressing at exposed skin. he pulls the shirt up to his elbows, pulling his face away so he can take zayn’s shirt off, removing his own as well.

louis’ skin has always been golden but fuck, right now he’s practically glistening from the sunlight coming in through zayn’s window, and zayn’s never been more in love. he doesn’t know what they’re doing or what this means for them, but he doesn’t care; what he _does_ know is that louis is beautiful, and pulls him down into another kiss.

louis moves his legs so he’s straddling zayn, pressing his hips down, and he arches up, a low his coming from his mouth. while louis starts kissing his neck, zayn moves to the button of louis’ jeans, popping them open and eagerly trying to shove them down. louis pulls away, getting up and off zayn until he’s standing at the foot of the bed, smirk in place as he slowly takes his jeans and pants off. zayn does the same, removing his clothes so they’re both naked.

like everything else on him, louis’ cock is pretty, thick and uncut, shiny at the tip. it’s flushed a ruddy pink at the head, and louis grasps it tightly in his hand, giving it a firm few strokes. zayn has to grasp his own dick at the sight, eyes briefly closing from arousal. he leans back as he feels louis crawl on top of him again, straddling him and brushing their cocks together. it’s almost too much.

“you have stuff, yeah?” louis asks breathlessly.

“yeah i—it’s in my—” says zayn, motioning towards his bed side table. louis leans over and grabs the almost-empty tube of lube and a condom, before pressing the items into zayn’s hands. if zayn could talk right now, he would, but he only looks at louis with a questioning stare until the other nods at him, leaning forward and urging their mouths together.

zayn’s hands shake as he opens the lube, but he manages to slick his fingers up and slide them between louis’ cheeks, pressing at his hole. when he gets the first finger in, louis makes a small sound, kissing him wetly. if this is the only time he can have this, he wants to make it so good. he gives louis’ jaw and neck small pecks until he reaches his chest; there, he sucks a nipple into his mouth while fitting another finger into louis.

louis tenses just a tiny bit, so zayn switches nipples, licking and nipping while louis sighs and writhes above him, both hands clenching in his hair. louis has started to rock back against his fingers now, trying to get them deeper, and zayn crooks them and scissors them, trying to stretch louis out. he’s started to kiss at zayn’s cheek now, and the curve of his jaw. it’s achingly sweet and zayn feels warmth shoot through his stomach.

he clenches his toes and tucks a third finger into louis, releasing his pink nipple and nudging their mouths together, louis’ tongue dipping into his mouth. he tries pressing his fingers deeper, and when louis jerks away with a bitten off moan, zayn knows he’s found what he’s looking for. louis begins to fuck back onto his fingers in earnest now, little moans falling out of his mouth.

he’s about to add a fourth finger when louis leans back, hands on his chest, and says, “i can take it.”

louis finds the condom in the bed sheet and tears it open, sliding it on zayn’s cock and quickly slicking it up with lube. ever so slowly, he sinks down onto zayn’s cock, eyes closing and mouth falling open. he has this blissful look on his face, mouth quirked up in a smile, and zayn sucks in a breath as he looks away.

“s’good, zayn,” he says, accent thick and low with arousal and zayn almost whines as he bucks up, unable to stop it. louis begins moving up and down, and as zayn watches his muscles move beneath his skin, he can’t help but touch, hands moving to caress his smooth skin.

he palms louis’ face next and he laughs breathlessly. it’s carefree and happy, like this is his favorite place to be, bouncing on zayn’s cock. it punches a moan out of zayn, pulling louis into an embrace because he can’t not, tucking his face into louis’ neck and thrusting up into him. louis starts to suck at his pulse point, and he knows there’s going to be a mark there, that he’s going to marked up by louis, because he’s louis’ and—fuck—

jolts of pleasure shoot up his spine and he knows he’s going to come soon, so he’s gets his hand around louis’ cock, squeezing lightly beneath the head before stroking fast and rough. he spreads some of the precome at the tip so it’s not painful, and thumbs into the slit, before louis groans long and hard, the loudest he’s been this whole time, come falling over zayn’s hand.

zayn starts thrusting faster now, losing a bit of his rhythm because he’s so desperate to come. louis’ murmuring things in his ear, sinful words like, “you’re going to come, yeah?” “come for me, zayn, do it,” and zayn whimpers, shoving into louis one last time before he comes, chest heaving up and down. he swears he sees stars behind his eyes, but that could be from clenching them too hard.

he pulls out of louis, and ties off the condom before throwing it in the garbage. the haze has cleared and now he’s just come to the realization the he’s just slept with louis. his best friend. the boy he’s been in love with for years. zayn slips into bed next to louis, who’s eyes are already drooping, and opens his mouth to say something, but before he can louis kisses him silent.

“sh,” louis says, in a way that clearly means no arguments. “go to sleep.”

and zayn does, dreaming of golden skin and squinty blue eyes.

.

the next morning, he wakes up alone.

if zayn didn’t know better, he’d be convinced he dreamt the entire thing. but there’s dried come on his hand, and the smell of louis on his sheets, so settles under the duvet, shoves his face into his pillow, and cries like the fucking idiot he is.

* * *

this is how it ends:

the first couple days after, louis doesn’t show up to school.

the only person who knows what happened is liam. he’d cried to liam later that night, saying he couldn’t be alone, feeling utterly pathetic but needy nonetheless. liam had tried his best to comfort him, but he’s not very good at words, so eventually he just put on a movie and held zayn close.

it’s thursday now and louis has missed three days of school. and in an unexpected turn of events, zayn is angry. pissed. fucking _furious_.

for the past couple of days, zayn has felt lost and helpless. everything felt like it was up in the air for him. he’d slept with his best friend, and fucked it all up. but zayn figures it’s time for him to stop putting all the blame on himself. he didn’t force louis to do anything, and it was louis who initiated it, and louis knows zayn’s in love with him. and it’s louis who’s being the coward.

he doesn’t have any clue what’s going to happen between them. but zayn knows they have to talk about this, and if louis won’t, then zayn will. zayn knows louis doesn’t deal with things well, knows that he closes himself off and puts his guard up, but he can’t do that this time. if he wants to keep zayn around, he can’t shut him out. not with this.

.

he shows up at louis’ door on friday. he’s tired of the other boy ignoring him and avoiding him. zayn really isn’t the type to start conflict, but he can’t just shove this aside. this is something that needs to be talked about.

when he knocks on the door, louis’ little sister fizzy opens the door and immediately calls for louis. it makes him smile a little bit, that familiarity. but it goes away when he contemplates going inside the house, unsure if he’s welcome now, feeling out of sorts and awkward. he hears louis before he sees him, the creaking of the stairs giving him away.

louis looks, above all, tired. there are tiny circles under his eyes and his hair is greasy like he hasn’t showered in a while. he’s swallowed up in a huge jumper that he probably nicked from harry at some point, legs clad in black joggers. the look on his face says he knows exactly why zayn’s here.

“hi,” louis mumbles as he pulls his hood down from around his ears.

“can i come in?”

wordlessly, louis steps aside and leads them to his bedroom. it’s the only place they’ll have any privacy, seeing as he has four nosy sisters. walking up to louis’ room is silent and awkward in a way it’s never been with them before, and zayn hates it. he just knows this conversation is going to be stilted and hard to get through and he wishes he didn’t have to do this.

zayn sits at louis’ desk chair once they arrive at his bedroom, louis opting for the edge of the bed. he fiddles with his fingers, avoiding zayn’s gaze. “so…”

“louis.” he says. this conversation has to be serious.

louis slumps over, shoulders curling inward. “i don’t know what you want me to say.”

zayn scoffs. fucking typical louis. “how about you tell me where you’ve been this past week. or why you’ve been ignoring my messages. or what the hell happened in my room on saturday.” he laughs a little, and it’s an awful, bitter sound. “shit, maybe you can tell me why you kissed me all those months ago.”

he sees louis shake his head minutely, before finally picking his head up and meeting zayn’s gaze. he looks despondent and young, and zayn wants to brush his hair back from his forehead, but he can’t.

“i don’t know why i did those things,” louis denies.

“that’s bullshit, louis,” he snaps, losing his patience. “don’t lie to me.”

“i’m…” louis trails off, before making a guttural sound of frustration and ruffling his hair. it’s as out of sorts as zayn’s ever seen him. louis is always confident, sure of himself, walking around with a sort of swagger to his step; but right now, he just seems disappointed and mad and confused, and it’s all directed inwards. “i really don’t know what to say. i don’t know why i kissed you, or why i let you fuck me. i just, i don’t know.”

“that’s not enough,”

“zayn, c’mon. it has to be enough, please, i can’t give you anything else right now.”

“well, you have to give me _something_!” zayn cries. “louis, you have to understand how hard this is for me, i love you.”

it stops louis short. it’s as upfront as zayn’s ever been about his feelings for him.

“you can’t keep giving me mixed signals, it’s not fair to me.”

“i’m not doing it on purpose, i just…you’re so _you_ , y’know? you’re always so _you_ and i wanted to kiss you, so i did.” he sighs. “i never meant to hurt you, you know i’d never do that.”

he feels tears well up in his eyes. _great_. just what he needs, to cry in front of louis and make a fool of himself. but he can’t stop it. he’s so confused and he has no idea what any of this means. “but you did. you may not have meant to, but you did hurt me.”

“i’m sorry, zayn—”

“do you have feelings for me?” zayn asks.

“i don’t wanna lose you,” whispers louis, and he sounds all of five years old.

“you’re going to if you can’t tell me the truth,” zayn says. he needs to know, he needs louis to say once and for all what is really happening.

“yes,” louis blurts, “i think i do. i can’t say i love you but i know that i don’t wanna be without you.”

a seed of hope falls into zayn’s stomach. “you better be telling the truth, louis, i swear to—”

“i am, i really am. i wanna kiss you, and hold your hand, and fuck you and stuff. all that couple-y stuff that i’ve never been good but always wanted, i want it with you.” he breathes, eyes shining.

zayn stands up from the chair, slowly walking over to louis. he hesitantly straddles louis, relaxing when louis grips his hips. they stare at each other for a while, zayn looking into louis’ eyes, his bright blue eyes that he’s known all of his life, and sees nothing but honesty. he leans forward, kissing louis gently before letting a wide smile spread across his face.

“are we really gonna do this?”

louis laughs, and places a feathery kiss on his chin. “i think so.”

.

it’s not automatically easy from thereon out.

it’s hard for zayn to get used to the idea that louis really has feelings for him, and isn’t just fucking with him. louis reassures him every time, but after so many years, he still has doubts. louis also has trouble remembering that zayn’s in this for the long haul, that they’re not going to break up after every little bicker.

but it’s them. it’s zayn and louis, who they’ve always been, and they understand each other.

they fight more now than they ever did when they weren’t a couple, but they also have make up sex, which is a perk. their worst fight is when zayn tells louis that the school he’s going to next year is two hours away. he knows louis was only afraid, and when louis gets scared, he puts his guard up. he’s got louis all figured out.

their friends are happy for them, and they tease them relentlessly. but it’s nice, because he knows time is running out for them to all hang out like this; after high school, a lot of them are going separate ways, and it will be hard to maintain contact.

above all, it’s amazing learning louis all over again. it’s like starting their relationship anew. he sees sides to louis he’s never seen in all their years together. louis’ always sharp, and he can come off as rude, but zayn sees the gentle and the soft side. he sees the caring, kind man louis can be. he knows he chose the right boy to fall in love with.

zayn’s a little worried about what’s going to happen to them once high school is over. he figures it’s natural. he knows he won’t lose louis for good, but the distance will put a strain on their relationship, and it’s going to be hard, but. he hopes what they have together is strong enough.

louis still hasn’t told zayn he loves him. it’s difficult for him to say it, and he’s never said it to anyone before, but zayn doesn’t mind. he sees it in louis’ eyes, his beautiful blue eyes that shine and glisten whenever they look at him; he feels it in his hands, the way he touches zayn so gently, pulls him into his side like there’s nowhere else he wants zayn to be. he just knows.

.

it’s the middle of the summer, and zayn and louis are packing up zayn’s things for when he moves out a week before his semester starts.

they’ve been doing really good and are actually about halfway through, but suddenly louis groans and plops himself on zayn’s bed. “can we be done now?” he asks.

“ _loueh_ we’ve got to get this done,” says zayn.

“i’m tired and i’m bored, and you have to entertain me.”

zayn scoffs as he sits down next to louis. “is that all you keep me around for?”

“no,” louis denies, shaking his head as he turns to face zayn. “i keep you around because i love you.”

it feels like the air is punched out of zayn, momentarily shocked silent, before he laughs, a huge grin spreading on his face. he grabs louis’ face and brings their lips together, keeping it chaste. he pulls away, but keeps his forehead on louis’ and breathes, “finally.”

**Author's Note:**

> sorry if the ending seems rushed :/ i hope you liked it and if you did, PLEASE comment and kudos because i love them!!


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